


but you knew from the start it was us, didn't you?

by pissard



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 18:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20710397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissard/pseuds/pissard
Summary: If the night when Boris and Theo reunite in New York had gone a little differently...





	but you knew from the start it was us, didn't you?

_There's nobody better than you_  
_It took me a while till I knew_  
_But you knew from the start it was us, didn't you?_  
_It just took me a while till I knew _

There are certain moments that have happened with clarity in Theo’s life that he has kept tucked away inside himself.

There were, of course, the big obvious ones: that terrible morning at the Metropolitan; the taste of Pippa’s morphine-lollipop lips for their first and only kiss; that fateful day in Honors English when Boris had first come crashing in. These memories are framed perfectly within him mind, and other smaller, less significant ones, were kept in Theo’s mind as well, like--Mrs. Barbour on the evening when Platt had taken him into her back parlour sitting entombed in peach bric a brac and Yorkies---the look on Hobie’s face when Theo had returned to New York, swimming in his fevery withdrawal haze. 

Then you could turn the corner in the gallery and there was another memory Theo had framed of his mother sitting across from him at the diner and she was saying something to him, playing on an infinite loop, and what she was saying could have once been important but now was so lost to him that it was just silence. It was just her beautiful face as well as he could remember it. Dark hair, high cheekbones, lips painted a pale pink gently smiling at him. 

He also kept that night after his father had hit him, after the money from what his mother had left him had fallen through and Bracegirdle had lied to him and Boris had brought them the acid to drop. Theodore was embarrassed about this one, though. He was embarrassed about many of the ones he had saved of Boris. 

They were very similar to the ones he had of Pippa, his lost loves. A lingering glance on a pale exposed expanse of skin, a moment where he’d been able to touch for just a bit longer than he normally should have been allowed. A hundred frozen stills of the same exposed skin or the quirk of a smile, Boris and Pippa respectively. Theo knew that what he had forgotten of shared nights with Boris were a hidden wonderland of delights perfect and perverse to frame for his gallery but they were lost to him through the haze of vodka and Vicodin. 

Then everything came crashing down. Just when Theo was at his lowest, there was Boris again. 

“Potter!” 

Boris was the same and different. He was as beautiful as a man as he was as a boy. All the lanky, narrowness of him remained but he had grown into it. Now it looked right, Boris fit into his frame instead of looking like an out of sorts giraffe. They were the same height now, too, a fact that would have made fifteen year old Theo smug but now convenient it to look into those same dark eyes. 

He was staring at Theo, from across the back of Boris’ Town Car, already so fucked up that there was a dull ringing beginning between Theo’s ears and it was difficult to keep track of just what was being said to him when. Boris didn’t seem to care. He never had. He’s talking about something---something to do with some funny, wild story that had happened in Paris and Theo found himself, mind utterly blank, reaching across the short space between them to place a hand on Boris’ warm thigh.

The sudden silence seemed deafening. 

It takes Theo all of fifty seconds to withdraw the hand, as panic manages to build itself past the stupor of cocaine and vodka to smack him in the face of reality that Boris is painfully straight, has a wife and a bundle of kids now and what happened when they were fifteen had not even been brought up in passing. His sexual pursuits to this point had been based all on pure swagger. Theo did somehow possess something that women found desirable: he was broken. Kitsy was perhaps the first woman that Theo had ever encountered who did not want to fix him and that was because she was trying to fix Thomas Cable. When it came to the people that Theo loved, however, he was a being of fear. He feared Pipa, he feared rejection from Pipa. 

Theo feared rejection from Boris.

Theo loved Boris.

He still did.

It choked him with how much. 

He leaned away, hand drawing back, mouth open. “Fuck,” his voice was coming out too fast, too breathless, and he could feel sweat clinging to the small of his back. “I shouldn’t have--”

“Gyuri,” Boris’ did not sound upset but he rarely ever did even when he was upset, “take us by where I am staying, I have a few gifts for Potter there.”

Something clenched in Theo’s chest, uncertain. He felt like he was stood upon a great cliff. It should have been familiar. Ten years ago this was his everyday. This had been their everyday together. Trying to out-do each other for making the day worse and worse or who could fuck up the most. Rarely had ever Theo won at this, Boris had always been king at making Theo cry uncle. 

The short drive to the hotel where Boris was staying was done in silence. If Gyuri had any inclination to what may have changed the mood, he gave no sign of it. When they were finally standing on the wet curb both watching the Town Car drive away, Theo finally managed the nerve to turn to Boris. 

“No,” Boris said, holding up a hand to stop Theo. “Just come.”

Boris was staying on the fifth floor. It was an average hotel for all the success Boris had been touting but it also somehow made sense. It was nice but not too nice. Boris hadn’t ever really cared about where he slept anyway. 

The room, when they finally did get to it, was a suite and it was clear that Boris hadn’t been there yet. His suitcase was sitting on the kingsize bed, untouched. 

Theo followed in after Boris, trailing slowly behind him, feeling like a boat set adrift. They had gone just long enough between drink and blow that he was starting to feel the buzz come down. There was a roiling in his stomach that was moments away from becoming unpleasant and he had just missed what Boris had said to him. 

“What?”

“I said, get undressed.”

“What the fuck?”

“What, you suddenly got something to hide?” Boris asked in that slyly familiar tone that was enough to send goose pimples all up and down Theo’s arms. “Like I haven’t seen it all already, you slut. Off with it.”

The words had the intended effect. Theo’s heart was racing now and he was all at once giddy with it. He had not been rejected. Finally he was getting what he wanted. He tugged at his tie and struggled with it for a moment, fingers dry, until suddenly Boris was there and he was batting Theo’s clumsy hands away, clucking his tongue. 

Boris’ tugged the knot free smoothly, pulling the tie free from around his neck and tossing it aside. Next his fingers were deft on the buttons and Theo’s sluggish, coke and vodka addled brain were doing their best to keep track of each quick movement as Boris hands smoothed over his skin, of how good it felt. How-fucking-_ finally _. 

He must have hissed between his teeth because Boris looked up and their eyes met and the world seemed to slow, grinding to a sluggish drag around them. Theo licked his dry lips and tasted the stale sweat that had dried on his upper lip, salt and old vodka. 

“Kiss me,” Theo demanded, hoarse. 

Time finally ground to a halt then. Framed perfectly around Boris’ face. His tousled hair, his blown out pupils, the high, uneven blotches of colour in his perfect cheekbones, the damp beads of sweat that had begun to gather on his forehead. Then, just like that, everything spun back into motion, and Boris was heedlessly crashing into him, hands moving up just in time to catch Theo’s glasses up and off his face and toss them aside. Their mouths met and they tasted awful but neither of them cared. Theo kissed like a man dying because he had been dying for Boris all these years, ten long years of longing for Boris. 

Boris kissed hungry and greedy with probably too much teeth, like he wanted to eat Theo alive and Theo would let him. Would let Boris eat him bite by bite until nothing of him remained except his bones. 

Eventually they crashed onto the bed in a heap, shoes discarded alongside trousers, which were soon followed by their shirts. Theo was having a hard time keeping track, too busy trying to touch as much of Boris as he could with this being his one chance. 

It’s almost too much at once. Theo feels close to coming but also not--the drugs have him sluggish. The fact that either of them have gotten hard is a true act of God. Boris is muttering as much as he wrapped a hand around Theo’s dick who groans loudly, hips working weakly. Theo reaches up to do something he’s not quite sure of, maybe just hold onto Boris, and Boris turns his face into Theo’s palm and it’s all suddenly so much more intimate 

“You don’t remember when we did this as boys, do you?” 

The question takes Theo by surprise and he stares at Boris, who still has his hand on his dick, his cheek in Theo’s palm. No. Theo did not remember them ever doing this.

“I didn’t think so,” Boris says when Theo doesn’t answer with a breathless chuckle, but there’s no humor there. “You were a fucking black out drunk, Theo.” 

Theo didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Boris wanted him to say. There was no memory in him whatsoever of them having ever been in his position before. Sure, they had wrestled half dressed and they slept naked together after being piss drunk but he didn’t remember anything more than that. He felt his breath hiccup in his chest and Boris swept down to kiss him but it was more like he slammed their mouths together. 

The shock of it was enough to keep Theo from hyperventilating, to break him free of this panic. 

“Boris,” Theo snapped, “what are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

Air was starting to hiccup in Theo’s chest again. Boris closed a hand over his mouth and nose and pressed Theo back against the mattress, hand off Theo’s dick and crawling up over to sit on his chest. “Never been able to fuck you before,” Boris went on, voice dropped lower now. “I always wanted to back in Vegas but I was too chicken. Thought about doing it when you were passed out a couple times but it didn’t feel right.”

As fucked up as it was the thought of that had precome dribbling weakly on Theo’s thigh and he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. Boris’ hand was only two minutes shy of being on his face long enough to be a problem. Theo slid his hands up Boris’ thighs, which were covered in thick dark hair but tight with wiry muscle. His hips were narrow in between Theo’s hands and the bones of Boris’ hips were sharp points, sharp blunt against Theo’s thumbs. 

“What say you?” Boris removed his hand. His grin was wicked and cruel. 

“Please.”

The prep work for it was almost more than Theo could handle. Boris was smart enough to have them stop for two bumps and order a bottle of Stol. It still didn’t keep Theo from squirming, his face pressed into the pillow as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, all his attention laser focused on the feeling of Boris working first, second, and then the third finger inside his ass.

It didn’t feel… good, not at first. Eventually Boris found Theo’s prostate and would not stop rubbing on it and crooning at Theo like he was a baby in Ukranian, enough that Theo almost came all over the pillow shoved under his hips. Boris gave that up by the third finger and Theo was grateful. He didn’t want to come yet. 

“Get your fucking cock in me you asshole,” Theo groaned irriatably as Boris added another dollop of lube to his ass. 

“Suddenly so bossy when you’ve got three fingers up your ass, Potter,” came the crooning reply but the fingers were gone and so was the warmth of him. Theo was ready to reply back with something biting, like a really good comeback, but then Boris hands were firm on his hips and yanking his ass up in the air and the hot, nearly burning brand of Boris’ cock was pressing between his ass cheeks. 

The reality of what was happening sank into his shoulders with an icy chill and Theo let out another shuddering breath and then before he could come to grips with any of it, the blunt head was pressing in. Fingers were really so much different. Boris’ cock was hot, too big, too hot, and pushing in too fast. Theo cried out, clutching at the sheets, and trying to crawl away, but Boris’ hands on his hips were steadfast. He was much stronger than Theo. 

“What happened to ‘_ get your cock in me _’, Potter?”

His voice was right at Theo’s ear, Boris’ breath hot enough to burn. 

“Fuck off.”

Boris slapped his ass then, stinging and quick, and Theo cried out, tears gathering in his eyes again. He felt so close to coming, it was all too much, and then Boris began to fuck him in earnest. 

The rhythm of it, at first, is off, because Theo is just lying there and taking it because it fucking hurt but... soon they begin to move together. Eventually Theo unclenches a hand from the sheets, moves it to place over one of Boris’ on his hip, Boris shifts his other hand to grip at Theo’s shoulder. And suddenly it is so, so good. It is a bone-deep, trembling pleasure that Theo feels alight with. It is the best fuck he has had in his life. 

He laughs, delirious with pleasure and feels Boris laugh back in response.

“Theo,” Boris says, or Theo thinks he says. Maybe Theo feels him say it. He can’t be sure of anything any more. 

He does know he’s standing on that cliff again and that Boris is there, ready to push him. Theo can feel his climax is so close, ready to take him under, and Theo is finally ready to succumb. He cries out, loud and hoarse and comes all over the sheets, dropping down onto his elbows. Boris rocks behind him but doesn’t slow down, keeps fucking into Theo without stopping, still running on pure cocaine. 

Theo groans from it, done completely in. It still feels good, though, to be used. His ass up in the air, as he is bonelessly fucked by Boris. There’s a fine sheen of sweat between them and Boris leans over him, closer now, Theo can feel it sliding between them, slipping as Boris tries to get a grip to press down on Theo’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to come inside you,” Boris was panting and he was somewhere above him and it was becoming hard to keep track of things now as the haze grew thicker and thicker. Theo desperately clung onto reality. 

“Do it, do it,” Theo tried to say. Maybe he did. Boris was coming, yelling loud now, hips slamming hard enough to slide Theo all the way up to the headboard and Theo laughed, moving his elbows up to protect his head. There was a wet dribble between his thighs, so fucking disgusting and so fucking Boris, who was sliding off him onto the bed next to him, one spindly arm already slung over his waist. 

“Sleep now. Then we talk more in the morning.”

Theo wanted to reply but the darkness was closing around him, too strong to fight so Theo just succumbed. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I wrote this in post daze of seeing the movie so take from it what you will. the song at the beginning is Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski, please give it a listen!


End file.
